The Battle of the Bays Part 7

Give me a standing army (I say 'give me,' because just at present we want one badly, armies being often useful in time of war).

I see our superb fleet (I take it that we are to have a superb fleet built almost immediately); I observe the crews prospectively; they are const.i.tuted of various nationalities, not necessarily American; I see them sling the slug and chew the plug; I hear the drum begin to hum;

Both the above rhymes are purely accidental and contrary to my principles.

We shall wipe the floor of the mill-pond with the scalps of able-bodied British tars!

I see Professor Edison about to arrange for us a torpedo-hose on wheels, likewise an infernal electro-semaph.o.r.e; I see Henry Irving dead-sick and declining to play Corporal Brewster; Cornell, I yell! I yell Cornell!

I note the Manhattan boss leaving his dry-goods store and investing in a small Gatling-gun and a ten-cent banner; I further note the Ident.i.ty evolved out of forty-four s.p.a.cious and thoughtful States; I note Canada as shortly to be merged in that Ident.i.ty; similarly Van Diemen's Land, Gibraltar and Stratford-on-Avon; Briefly, I see Creation whipped!

O ye Colonels! I am with you (I too am a Colonel and on the pension-list); I drink to the lot of you; to Colonels Cleveland, Hitt, Vanderbilt, Chauncey M. Depew, O'Donovan Rossa and the late Colonel Monroe; I drink an egg-flip, a morning-caress, an eye-opener, a maiden-bosom, a vermuth-c.o.c.ktail, three sherry-cobblers and a gin-sling!

Good old Eagle!

PART II. INTERMEZZO DOLOROSO.

[Allowing time for the fall of American securities to the extent of some odd hundred millions sterling; also for the Day of Rest.]

PART III. ANDANTE AMABILE.

Who breathed a word of war?

Why, surely we are men and Plymouth brothers!

Pray, what in thunder should we cut each other's Carotids for?

Merciful powers forefend!

For we by gold-edged bonds are bound alway, Besides a lot of things that never pay A dividend!

Christmas! we cry thee _Ave_!

At such a time, when hearts with love are filled, It seems inopportune for us to build The needful navy.

In fact in many a church Uprise the prayer and supplicating psalm That Heaven would keep our spreading Eagle calm Upon his perch.

Goodwill and peace and plenty!

Our leading congregations here agree To vote for this arrangement, _nemine Contradicente_.

Greatly be they extolled Who occupied the tabernacle-chair And put it to the meeting then and there And pa.s.sed it solid!

That print has also played A useful part that sent an invitation To Redmond to relieve the situation (Answer prepaid).

Say, Sirs, and shall we sever?

And mar the fair exchange of fatted steers, Chicago pig, and eligible peers?

No! never, never!

Shall gore be made to flow?

Like kindred Sohrabs shall we knock our Rustums, And blast our beautiful McKinley customs?

Lord love us! no!

Then, burst the sundering bar!

Our punctured pockets yearn across the ocean; Till now we never had the faintest notion How dear you are!

O love of other years!

Wall Street, aweary for her broken bliss, Waits like a loving crocodile to kiss Again with tears!

XI. TO THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

[On sending a certain telegram.]

Majestic Monarch! whom the other G.o.ds, For fear of their immediate removal, Consulting hourly, seek your awful nod's Approval;

Lift but your little finger up to strike, And lo! 'the ma.s.sy earth is riven' (Sh.e.l.ley), The habitable globe is shaken like A jelly.

By your express permission for the last Eight years the sun has regularly risen; And editors, that questioned this, have pa.s.sed To prison.

In Art you simply have to say, "I shall!"

Beethoven's fame is rendered transitory; And t.i.tian cloys beside your clever all- -egory.

We hailed you Admiral: your eagle sight Foresaw Her Majesty's benign intentions; A uniform was ready of the right Dimensions.

Your wardrobe s.h.i.+nes with all the shapes and shades, That genius can fix in fancy suitings; For _levees_, false alarums, full parades And shootings.

But save the habit marks the man of gore Your spurs are yet to win, my callow Kaiser!

Of fighting in the field you know no more Than I, Sir!

When Grandpapa was thanking G.o.d with hymns For gallant Frenchmen dying in the ditches, Your nurse had barely braced your little limbs In breeches.

And doubtless, where he roosts beside his bock, The Game Old Bird that played the leading fiddle Smiles grimly as he hears your perky c.o.c.k- -a-diddle.

Be well advised, my youthful friend, abjure These tricks that smack of Cleon and the tanners; And let the Dutch instruct a German Boor In manners.

Nor were you meant to solve the nations' knots, Or be the Earth's Protector, w.i.l.l.y-nilly; You only make yourself and royal Pots- -dam silly.

Our racing yachts are not at present dressed In bravery of bunting to amuse you, Nor can the licence of an honoured guest Excuse you.

But if your words are more than wanton play And you would like to meet the old sea-rover, Name any course from Delagoa Bay To Dover.

Meanwhile observe a proper reticence; We ask no more; there never was a rumour Of asking Hohenzollerns for a sense Of humour!

XII. FROM THE LORD OF POTSDAM.

We, William, Kaiser, planted on Our throne By heaven's grace, but chiefly by Our own, Do deign to speak. Then let the earth be dumb, And other nations cease their senseless hum!

Seldom, if ever, does a chance arise For Us to pose before Our people's eyes; But this is one of them, this natal day Whereon Our Ancient and Imperial sway, Which to the battle's death-defying trump Welded the States in one confounded lump, (As many tasty meats are blent within The German sausage's encircling skin) By Our decree is twenty-five precisely, And, under Us (and G.o.d) still doing nicely.